


Heart Storms

by zombified_queer



Category: Hatoful Kareshi | Hatoful Boyfriend
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Domestic, Hatoful Boyfriend Ship Week 2018, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Oral Sex, Prompt fill: Storms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-08 15:33:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15933353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombified_queer/pseuds/zombified_queer
Summary: Storms calm the doctor. To a smaller extent, Tohri does too.





	Heart Storms

The rain calms him, Tohri knows. It''s a comforting sound for Shuu, like the cold wet droplets are putting out some fire deep inside him. He'll always pause in whatever he's doing, cock his head, listening to the patter of rain on the roof with his good ear.  
It's raining again today.

Tohri's taken the initiative this Sunday to do laundry and now he's folding--a horribly domestic chore for someone who's built literal death machines and carved a bloody swatch of art--but Shuu can't be bothered today and Tohri refuses to let the doctor walk around in wrinkled shirts. He steps out of the laundry room, basket of clothes on his hip, and pauses to listen to the rain. 

It's the sort of storm that quietly threatens to drown everything, refusing to let up from late morning to mid-evening, everything grey and cold and absolutely soaked. Shuu's not anywhere inside the house—Tohri checks each room systematically—and it makes him worry.

He forgets about the laundry basket at the foot of their bed, the folded clothes needing to be hung or put on hangers in the closet, and pulls on a red raincoat before stepping outside. 

Shuu's standing under the overhang of the roof, head cocked in that way. His sweater—oversized on him since he rarely eats a proper meal—hangs off one shoulder, the angry red of Shuu's scars clashing against beige wool. 

"Tohri," he greets, voice flat.

"Isa, come inside," Tohri demands. "You'll catch your death out here!"

"So be it."

The sky lights up, thunder chasing it, cracking overhead. Tohri grabs Shuu by the wrist, dragging the doctor back inside. It's not until after the door closes behind them that Tohri realizes Shuu's wet, trying not to shiver under his dripping sweater. 

"I'll get a towel," Tohri sighs, helping Shuu undress. It's not the first time he's seen the doctor naked. Sometimes he'll have one of those days where his arm's too stiff and he resigns himself to letting Tohri help him. 

"Why do you insist on taking care of me?" It's hard to read what emotion colours the question.

"Keep your enemies closer," Tohri answers. 

He heads upstairs, gathering a towel and a dry set of comfortable clothes for Shuu. Nothing clashing and nothing too tight. He brings everything to the doctor, who stands in the living room, head cocked again as the rain pounds more intently against the windows, on the roof. When Tohri wordlessly offers to dry Shuu off, he takes the towel, eyes narrowed at Tohri as the doctor dries himself off one-handed.

"How's the arm?"

"Moderate."

"Can I get—"

"Tea," Shuu says, "and a thick blanket."

"Peppermint?"

"Is there any other kind?"

Tohri smiles at the small running joke between them. Peppermint's always reminded both of them of the salve they'd rub under their noses when the labwork demanded handling some less-than-fresh samples. But it calms Shuu's stomach slightly, the warmth making it easier for Shuu to sleep.

Tohri puts a kettle on the stove while he brings Shuu a large, thick quilt from the linen closet. 

"Tohri." 

"Hmm?" Tohri's focused on adjusting the quilt around Shuu's shoulders, knowing the other prefers his scars to be covered.

"I want to try something."

Tohri tilts his head. Shuu grabs his wrist, looking lost in how to phrase it.

"I want . . . intimacy."

"Oh." Tohri blinks a few times, confusion clouding his face. Shuu's always preferred to avoid intimacy, deflecting or acting cold until Tohri took the hint and stopped expecting anything, content to just be with him. "It's fine, Isa, you don't have to force it."

"No," Shuu says. Those violet eyes fix on Tohri's. "The reason I didn't want to was . . . mistrust. But you won't hurt me."

"You're sure about that."

Shuu nods, the motion robotic and cold. "You wouldn't. You're too attached. It's made you soft."

"You're just as soft," Tohri says.

Shuu's glare is supposed to be cold, but the icy wall cracks. "How should we . . .?"

Tohri places a hand on Shuu's chest, guiding him back, down onto the couch. Shuu takes Tohhri by the arm, pulling him down close enough to kiss him. It's rough and sloppy and unpractised, but Tohhri loves it all the same because it's Shuu. The doctor breaks the kiss, humming, as if he's coming to some conclusion about this.

His cold fingers rest on the back of Tori's neck. A clap of thunder cuts him off, but Tohri can read his lips. _Is it alright?_

Tohri nods. Shuu gently removes Tohri's hairpin, the elastic band keeping his long hair tied back in a bun. Tohri shakes his hair out, taking the pin and setting it on the end table. 

"Is it really okay with you?" Tohri asks, looking over at Shuu.

Shuu nods. Tohri kisses the unscarred skin of Shuu's throat, drawing a low noise of appreciation. Slowly, Tohri sinks ot his knees in front of Shuu, looking up at the doctor. Shuu watches, interest flashing in his eyes. 

While Tohri goes down on the doctor, rain patters against the roof, lightning forking through the sky, thunder shaking the house to the very foundations.


End file.
